


Not a Writer

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Dipper's an idiot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Following dreams, M/M, Mabel to the rescue, Married Couple, Office Sex, Wirt loves him anyway, Yum, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since he was a child, all Dipper’s wanted to do was write. He’s kept that desire a secret for twenty years, so long that even he has himself convinced that it won’t happen, he’s no good, why is he wasting his time? But he can’t resist the pull of the story one autumn, and continues to try and keep just how much he wants this at bay. Even if the secret puts a strain on his marriage and his husband’s nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Writer

Every summer was spent exploring the world, making videos, going to cons, and just having fun. They were a whirlwind of activity and excitement and Dipper was constantly awed by the outpouring of kind words and attention from fans. He listened to every story, catalogued every word in his memory. People who loved the entertainment value of his videos, people who had managed to use his teachings to survive or recognize a paranormal situation, people who said the videos lifted their spirits and helped them through depression and loneliness. It was a community he'd been astounded to discover and, now, after thirteen summers of filming, he was saying goodbye to it. He'd posted his last video.

He'd be twenty-six in just a few weeks, and the videos had started to feel like a chore. Once, pulling out a camera to record mysteries had been second nature, but now it was in the way. In thirteen years, he'd covered everything from werewolves to banshees to pixies. He'd discussed code breaking to the easiest ways to categorize creatures. He really felt like he'd covered all that he could. Some mysteries could stay mysteries. Some places were meant to just be enjoyed with his husband, brother in-law, and twin sister. He didn’t want to pull out the camera everywhere they went and, realizing that, he'd decided to end Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained.

The only drawback was that left Dipper without a career. The videos had pulled in billions of views, millions of subscribers, thousands of people purchasing things from the online store Mabel had put herself in charge of. Creating sweaters by special order, selling the pine tree caps - and giving some of those proceeds to the Mystery Shack as they were Grunkle Stan's merchandise. They sold tea that Wirt created, and several of the ridiculous things Greg tended to say had ended up on t-shirts. Once the last item on sale was sold, though, even the store would be closing.

Dipper had been relying on that steady source of income for thirteen years, the odd jobs he found in the fall supplements. Really irritating supplements for the most part. It didn't take much time for Dipper to grow dissatisfied with the places he found for employment. He would stay the ninety days for probation and then tended to leave, unhappy with authority and detesting the monotony. Quitting was never really a problem, though. The channel and store helped pay their bills and, ultimately, Dipper didn’t _need_ to work a “normal” job to help support his husband. But with the channel ending and the store closing, Dipper was feeling the pressure. He needed employment. He needed something steady that would let him take summers off. He could teach, maybe, follow Wirt down that path. Holidays and summers off was a huge bonus and it offered the freedom to create your own lesson plans and such. The only problem was that he would have to go back to school for that, and then what would he teach?

And, god, his father would be on his back for it. Judging every one of his lesson plans and just being unimpressed by his tests. As much as he hated to admit it, Dipper could already feel the burn of it, the unbearable weight of a man who'd been teaching longer than Dipper had been alive.

So, no, he couldn't teach, but what else could he do? He still loved math and science, still read physics books that Wirt checked out of the library for him while he was taking his courses. That derailed his thoughts, Dipper’s lips curving. He ached with pride for him, was so thrilled that his brilliant husband had put his poems together into two cohesive, fascinating books that were also on sale at their store and had brought in new fans since their publication. The second had also brought to light that others had traveled through The Unknown, and Dipper knew how much it meant for Wirt to have people connecting to his words so deeply.

And now the third one was about to be published. Dipper had always known Wirt was a writer. A talented, wonderful writer of poetry, and now he planned to transfer some of that talent to a new generation with his teaching. He had a goal, was working towards it steadily, and Dipper felt useless beside him.

Oh, he hadn't before. Before, he'd had steady work, but now he felt unemployed, uncertain, and was struggling to discover what was next for him. Math, science, and physics were loves, but he was so turned off by the professions attached to them. His father had made sure of that, his constant pushing at Dipper to “make something of himself” straining an already damaged relationship. He'd been trying to manipulate his son to become a scientist or researcher, had been trying to get him to work towards a doctorate and couldn't understand that Dipper was done with school. He couldn't understand that his genius son was wasting his life making videos instead of furthering his education. Professor Pines was a label Wirt was going to take, and Dipper was okay with that. He was proud of that.

If only he could feel some pride for himself. If only he could feel like _something_ more than a waste. It wasn't right to feel this way. It wasn't healthy. But as August marched into September and his twenty-sixth birthday came and went, Dipper still hadn't found a job. He was drowning in application after application, rejection after rejection. He was either overqualified or they needed someone who would work through summers, and Dipper just couldn't do that. He had to go home to Gravity Falls for at least part of the summer. He had to have the entire season free to be with his family.

The rejection was getting to him, though. Self-esteem already fragile, Dipper worked and reworked his resume and eventually had a dozen of them tailor made for each type of job he was applying to. Still, no one called. For the first time in his adult life, he couldn’t find a job and it was just when he needed one most.

Thankfully, Wirt was always there. Dipper could always press close to his husband and take the comfort that was so freely given. Even then, Dipper tried to play it down as much as possible. He didn’t want to bother Wirt when he needed to focus on his last year of school. He wanted to celebrate the publication of his third collection, and did manage to push everything away for that. But his stress levels were rising with each passing day, making it harder and harder to hide. He’d never been one to do nothing. Everyone knew Dipper Pines was a busy guy, but he was spending a lot of time stuck in their little townhome. It was driving him crazy. It was lonely.

For the first time in years, Dipper was being overcome by loneliness. Wirt was busy with school, Mabel was flitting between Gravity Falls and Lakeville and was thinking about starting a business in freaking Seattle, and Greg was a senior in high school, for crying out loud, thinking about college. He had the beginnings of a plan for his future. _Greg_ had a plan, and Dipper was adrift. Closer to thirty than twenty, he had no idea what he was doing with himself. He had no solid plans for the future. He was as clueless and stupid as he'd been that last year in college. Clueless, stupid, and spiraling into a quiet depression that he was too ashamed to talk about. What did he have to be depressed about? How could he be lonely when the love of his life came home to him every night?

What was wrong with him?

As September came to a close, Dipper found himself in a familiar position, but he was listless, going through the motions. Pull up job search websites, find every single one he qualified for - even slightly - and then pick the best resume for the job.

Except he misclicked when opening his resume folder and found himself staring at a long-forgotten relic. He hadn’t touched this in years. He hadn’t opened any of his writings in years. It had all been put away, a dream so deeply buried that he immediately closed the folder and resumed applying for jobs he wouldn’t get. With every click of a Submit button, his spirits sank lower, and he only got through three before he was opening the book he'd started before Wirt had even proposed to him in the first place. This book had helped stave off loneliness then. Maybe it would do the same now. Just one day off from the applications couldn’t hurt, could it? Just one day.

By the end of the first paragraph, he was hooked. The characters exploded in his mind, the two main girls in the book tumbling over one another in their eagerness to share their tales with him. Dipper’s breath caught, and he was lost to their whims. He’d written five and a half chapters back in college. By the time Wirt got home that night, Dipper had edited them all and chapter six was well on its way. For the first time in weeks, he was grinning and laughing. He pulled his husband into a dance in their kitchen, much to Wirt’s relieved delight.

But guilt was quick to steal away his giddiness when Wirt harmlessly and logically assumed that his good mood was due to the job search. Like the writing, Dipper heard himself lie to Wirt for the first time in years. His husband knew that he wrote, at least that he used to write. But how dare he waste time writing a book no one would ever read when he should be looking for a job?

Yet he couldn’t stop. Guilt and shame grew in him, but he kept writing. The writing felt so good. Giving characters voices held a kind of joy he'd made himself forget. It was easier that way, knowing he had no real talent for writing. Maybe he'd gotten compliments from peers in college. Maybe some of his professors had told him he had potential. Maybe Wirt had spent years claiming to love the way he wrote. None of that meant he had real talent, the kind needed to be published.

He wasn’t a writer. Wirt was the writer. Wirt could touch people's hearts. Dipper was just wasting time. Dipper was being stupid and irresponsible, putting fictional words to a page rather than putting resumes to applications.

Dipper was withdrawing from his husband. 

A week passed, then two, and the atmosphere in their home changed. Both knew Dipper’s responses to “What did you do today?” weren't true. But Wirt wasn't one for confrontation and Dipper was in too deep to tell the truth. Too ashamed that he was writing drivel, too guilty that he was putting that writing ahead of something productive, too afraid to see Wirt’s face if he did tell. He was sure Wirt would be disappointed in him or would pity him. Either scenario was terrifying, keeping him quiet and keeping the lies going. It was wrong, and he knew it was, but the characters wouldn’t leave him alone. He spent his days writing, his evenings steeped in guilt and shame and lies, and the depression took him over.

It was steadily taking their home over, and Wirt’s innocent suggestion that he take some time off from the job hunt had been Dipper’s breaking point. Lying in bed, Dipper's tossing and turning keeping him awake, Wirt rolled over and pulled him close.

And Dipper lost it. He broke down into wrecked sobs, clutching at his husband's nightshirt. All he'd been doing for weeks was taking time off from the job hunt. How could he admit it, though, when he'd spent the entire time lying? And, oh, Wirt was so sweet. So sweet to think it was the rejection which troubled him. There was so much more than that now. But he didn't know how to explain without admitting everything, and Dipper was too afraid to do more than hide his face in Wirt’s shoulder and soak up the comfort he no longer felt he deserved. “I'm sorry,” he gasped. “I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry.”

“Shh, Dipper. It's okay. It's okay, I love you, too. I love you so much.” And it was killing Wirt to see the man that he loved suffering. Even more so the fact that he didn't know _why_. “Don't be sorry, you don't have anything to be sorry for. You haven't done anything wrong, Dipper, it's okay.” Wirt held him tightly, stroking his back as he willed his comfort to sink in, but no matter how many times he'd been trying to convince his husband of this, he was starting to find that it just wouldn't. 

But he was doing wrong. Struggling against the despairing sobs, Dipper curled and uncurled his fingers. Tense and trembling, he blew out a shuddering breath and felt no better than he had when the tears had started. He didn’t deserve the comfort when the reason behind the sobs were his own doing. He was the one hiding. He was the one lying.

And now he was being a bother, a leech. Dipper quieted more from his own will than from Wirt’s soothing. “I... I'm okay. Sorry. I- I know I'm keeping you up. You have classes in the morning. I know I'm being stupid.” So stupid. “I'm sorry, Wirt.”

“Hey, no. Class isn't as important as you. I can miss a day or two. I- I think I will. I'll stay home with you tomorrow. We'll have a day just for us. No worrying about jobs or- or the future or... we'll just worry about being husbands.” Wirt pressed his lips to the top of Dipper's head, fingers kneading tight muscles, everything an attempt to offer him comfort in some fashion.

Dipper's immediate reaction horrified him: If Wirt stayed home, he wouldn't be able to write. That wasn't the reaction he was supposed to have. He loved spending time with his husband, the days he played hookey especially delightful because they held an air of rebellion. Sniffling, Dipper pressed closer. Writing could wait a day. It would. He wasn’t supposed to be bothering with it anyway. “I... I think I could use a day just to be husbands.”

“Me too. So that's what we'll do.” Wirt wriggled down to nudge his forehead to Dipper's, nuzzling gently, thumbing at his cheeks. “You're okay, kitten. I love you.”

Dipper still didn’t feel okay, but he buried it. Eyes closing, he sighed and reached up to wrap his hands around Wirt’s wrist. “I love you too, Wirt.” _I'm sorry._

For a week after, things were almost normal again. Dipper pushed his writings aside to return to trying to find a normal, decent job. But he just couldn't do it. The characters didn’t want to be put away, and the plot they were weaving was too intriguing for Dipper to ignore. He wanted to tell the tale of these two sisters, their paranormal adventures connected to his own experiences. And he was happy when he was sitting at his computer, lost in their world. It was hard to feel happy in his own world because the moment Wirt came home, the only tales Dipper weaved were answers to questions about his activities. The strain was driving him mad, and he decided that the only way he was going to be able to move on and return to life as normal was to finish the book.

It wanted so badly to be a series, but he couldn’t let it happen. He would write this one novel, just this one, and then he'd bury it and never look at it again. He was so tired of lying to his husband, though, the one man he'd promised to always trust. The process was taking too long, so he began to slip out of bed at night to write. The bags always beneath his eyes deepened, his yawns more frequent, but he was blind to it. He slept little, consumed by the writing, and taking breaks only when Wirt was home and awake to watch him.

Except the afternoon he was almost caught. He fell asleep at his desk, awakened hours later by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He jolted violently, rubbing his eyes. “I'm awake. I'm- Don’t-” _Don't look!_ The screen, thankfully, was dark when he glanced at it. Then, shoulders sagging, he looked up at his husband. “Wirt, what- why are you home? What time is it?”

“It’s… class is over, Dipper. It’s almost five.” Brow furrowed, Wirt took in the bags under his eyes and the unhealthy pallor that accompanied his exhaustion with uncertainty and tight lips. He held the back of his hand to Dipper’s forehead, then each of his cheeks while he could get away with it, feeling for a temperature. “How long have you been asleep?”

“I…” Five hours or so. He remembered contemplating lunch before laying his head down for just a moment. Dipper dropped his gaze, twisting his wedding band. “I don't know. Not that long.”

“Mm.” Wirt’s fingers skimmed along his jaw before he pulled away, crossing his arms as he tried to ignore the sneaking suspicion that his husband wasn’t being entirely truthful and the hurt that accompanied it. “Well, you do look pretty tired. A nap’s probably not a bad idea. Why don’t you go lie down somewhere more comfortable? I’ll start dinner and turn off your computer for you and we can just take it easy tonight.”

“ _No_!” Dipper bit his lip, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I mean- I'm- Sorry. Sorry, I'm- I'm sorry. I'll turn it off. I'm fine. It's fine.”

“O-oh…” Wide-eyed at the outburst, Wirt was torn between demanding to know just what was going on and doing what he did best - avoiding confrontation. Unsettled, his own worries keeping him awake at night and the empty space he was growing more used to finding beside him in their bed surely a sign that things were absolutely not fine, Wirt found it very tempting to sit Dipper down and force him to talk to him. Except he didn’t want to have to force him. He wanted Dipper to come to him of his own volition. To trust him. 

The age-old insecurity he’d thought had been long buried reared up and sealed his lips. “Okay, fine. You take care of it. I’m going to defrost the chicken.” Though he didn’t say anything mean, Wirt couldn’t help feeling like he had. Getting upset wasn’t going to bridge whatever dark rift was festering between them, so he added in a lighter tone to make up for the initial clipped response, “There anything you want with it in particular? I’m pretty sure we still have rice and potatoes, but we probably have to go to the store soon.”

Dipper kept his gaze lowered, staring at the ring as tears welled. He blinked them back. He hated crying, and there was no reason for them. He was doing this to himself. He was doing this to them. God, he wasn't a writer. Why was he wasting time pretending? “That’s fine. I'll, um... I'll be down in a minute.”

Wirt waited a minute to see if he’d look at him. When he didn’t, he hugged himself tighter and bit down on his lip as he left to head down to the kitchen. What was wrong with his husband and why wouldn’t he tell him? Was he supposed to know? Had he done something wrong? Were they drifting apart like his parents had? Thoughts like that circled his head like starving vultures, ready to prey on his resolve the second it faltered. They weren’t drifting apart. Wirt still loved him fiercely, the mark on the palm of his left hand tingling at the reminder of just how fierce, and he couldn’t doubt that Dipper still loved him equally, even if he wouldn’t tell him everything. Even if his husband was obviously unhappy and trying to hide it. Why? To spare his feelings? Wirt didn’t know, and not knowing plagued him as he cooked dinner for them both, heart and mind only half in it. He burned the rice, had to scrape it off the bottom of the pot and bake the potatoes instead.

It didn’t end up mattering. Dipper didn’t make it downstairs. Wirt found him asleep and only half on their bed when he gave up waiting. Dipper had only meant to sit for a moment, but had drifted off and dropped to his side. There were tear tracks on his face, and he barely stirred when his husband lifted him to better tuck him in, only enough to mumble yet another apology. “M’sorry. Love you. M’sorry...”

“I love you, too, but why are you sorry?” His whispered question went unanswered, voice breaking with it only after Dipper had fallen back asleep completely, leaving him alone and perched on the edge at the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong and why won’t you tell me?”

Thoughts of the worst continued to barrage his mind, chest tight and head spinning as he tried not to panic. Alone with his what-ifs though, it was the only thing he could really do. There was no visible threat, nothing tangible they could face together. Wirt didn’t even know what was wrong except that it maybe had something to do with his job hunt. It was the only thing that had changed recently, Dipper’s decision to stop his guide to the unexplained. It had to be that, or else… maybe it was him.

Maybe he was making Dipper unhappy. Maybe he wasn’t there enough for him, or maybe he was smothering him, too overbearing. Maybe he’d said something, maybe he hadn’t said something when he was supposed to. Maybe Dipper was sorry because he was falling out of love with him. Maybe Dipper was sorry because he planned on leaving him.

There were too many maybes and Wirt couldn’t breathe in their room. He went downstairs and threw away their dinner, stomach churning too much for him to choke it down and it wasn’t even good anyway. He cleaned up from cooking, then cleaned the rest of their small kitchen until it was spotless. He scrubbed the stove, mopped the floor, wiped down the microwave, went through the fridge, and when he was done there, he moved onto the rest of the townhouse. Every room except their bedroom, even Dipper’s office. 

Except he paused in sorting his husband’s bookshelf when the blue light flickered in the low lighting and caught his attention. Dipper hadn’t turned off his computer. Dipper had acted funny when Wirt had offered to do it for him. 

Not being one to snoop, Wirt felt even sicker as he crossed the room and sat down at his husband’s desk. He never felt the the need to pry or poke around in Dipper’s business. Wirt trusted that if something big or important or something his husband wanted to share with him came up, then he’d tell him. But something important was happening and Dipper wasn’t telling him. His husband was crying himself to sleep and Wirt had no idea why. 

He jiggled the mouse, bringing the computer out of hibernation. He typed in Dipper’s login information, then pulled up the desktop. Nothing was running, so if Dipper had been trying to hide something from him, then it was gone now. Wirt bit down hard on his lower lip, hands shaking as he clicked on the web browser, hating himself so much when he opened up his history. This wasn’t him, he didn’t snoop through Dipper’s internet history because he didn’t trust his husband. He didn’t even know what he was expecting to find, but his stomach rolled and he braced himself for the worst as it opened. 

He hated himself more when there was absolutely nothing incriminating, tears welling up when there was only his typical research on the paranormal and towns and how it affected people. Here he was snooping when his husband had absolutely nothing to hide. There was nothing, and sure Dipper could’ve deleted it or hidden whatever he was doing somehow, but Wirt hardly ever touched this computer, he didn’t see why Dipper would take the time to hide something Wirt would probably never go looking for. Dipper was just researching, like he liked to do in spare time, probably to make him feel better after job hunting…

There weren’t any web pages for job listings in Dipper’s history. Not for the past week. Wirt swallowed and checked the month, scrolling through the pages and feeling sicker when nothing came up for the month either. He didn’t look any further than that, closing out of the browser and pushing away from the computer. Dipper was lying to him. Wirt stood on wobbling legs as he dragged his fingers through his hair, clenching in it and tugging hard as his breathing quickened. Dipper was lying to him. If Dipper wasn’t job hunting, then what was he doing that he didn’t want Wirt to know about? Why was he lying? What was going _on_?

That night Wirt slept on the couch in the living room, unable to find it in him to squeeze between his husband and the wall, though it was a fitful sleep that even his nightmare-preventing draught could do nothing to appease. 

\----

Mabel didn’t have to live with them, or even live in the same state full time to know that something was wrong. With Halloween only days away, she popped into their home as a surprise. Her twin's usually constant communication had become sporadic, and when they did talk, he was brief and evasive. According to Greg, it was the same with Wirt. What could possibly be going on with their waffles?

The home felt wrong the moment she stepped inside, cold and quiet. She cupped her elbows, looking around. She hadn’t seen Wirt’s car, though it was nearing five. He should be home soon, and then she'd be able to interrogate them. But first, Dipper. Their home felt like Dipper’s bedroom when they'd been teens and he'd been feeling his worst. What could be bringing that about now?

Quiet, she made her way up the stairs and quickly searched for her twin. She found him in his office, hunched over his computer. His fingers were flying, glasses slipping down his nose, and he looked absolutely exhausted.

Frowning, Mabel stepped into his line of sight and watched the gleam that had been in his gaze falter. His quick movements turned jerky and then stopped altogether. “Mabel?”

“Hey, bro-bro!” She shoved cheer into her tone and bounced over to him, not surprised to see that the screen was blank, but certainly unsettled. Hiding something. Her brother had a secret under that faded cap of his. “What're you doing?”

“Nothing. Why are you here?”

“Wow, not even a hi? I'm wounded!” She was, really, though surprise was more prominent. Dipper never looked anything less than happy when she popped in and now? Now he looked annoyed. Trying to hide it and push it back without a doubt, but the fact that it was there hurt. She poked his shoulder, grinning anyway. Something was wrong, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. “I stopped by on the way to Lakeville. Greg wanted to hang out this weekend, and I didn't want to say no. Plus, I have this building picked out and I wanted Wirt to take a look at it.”

It had been a while since they'd gone to Lakeville, city of lakes. He hadn't seen his family for ages, but he was so desperate to get the book written, done, out of the way so he could spend normal time with his husband and make up for all the lies and time spent hiding. He didn’t want to hide anymore. He just wanted to go back to being the good husband Wirt deserved. He would be moving onto student teaching soon, and Dipper had no idea if he'd even found a school to teach at or what his plans were. But Wirt was following Dipper’s awful example and closing up. It was wretched. He was so tempted to just come clean. He could admit that he was wasting time putting words on a page instead of doing something proactive about his future.

He could probably even accept the annoyance or pity Wirt was sure to respond with. More likely it would be pity, but he didn't know just how badly this would hurt him. Dipper was so very tired of hurting his husband. 

Mabel flicked his cap, startling him. “What? I didn’t- What'd you say?”

“I said, ‘are you really not gonna show me what you were doing?’ You looked so into it!”

Dipper paled. His sister knew even less about his writing than Wirt did. He couldn't possibly explain. She’d never understand. “It's nothing. Just a- just a thing I'm working on.”

“Like a presentation? Thinking about going back to school?”

“No. Just drop it, Mabel.” Dipper pushed back from his desk and pulled the usb stick out of the slot on his tower, unable to trust his twin not to snoop.

He wasn't quite sneaky enough for her not to notice. “Is it on that?”

“Stop.”

“Show me!” Fascinated by his reaction, this one vaguely familiar, she reached for it.

Dipper stretched his arm back, holding her at bay. “Mabel!”

“Dipper!” she echoed, sticking her tongue out. “I want to see what you're working on!”

“No, Mabel, just leave it alone! It's not important!”

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn't be such a _brat_ ,” she accused, knocking his hat askew as she leaned over him, standing on her toes to expand her reach. Her fingers brushed the drive, and sheer panic skittered across Dipper’s face.

“Mabel, please-!”

“Mabel, leave him alone.” Wirt’s tired voice filtered into the room as he passed it, taking only a moment to peer inside to catch a glimpse of the shenanigans before turning around and heading downstairs. “Come on. I’ll make you some tea or hot chocolate.”

“Oh my gosh, am I not going to get a normal hello from either of you?” She straightened, hands on her hips, and Dipper averted his gaze. “Dipper?”

He shrugged, fingers closing tightly around the little USB drive. “Hi,” he mumbled.

She frowned, gaze lingering on his fist. Whatever was going on, that was part of the problem. Whatever had brought sadness into the house was tied to whatever Dipper was hiding. “Hi. You coming down?”

There was a beat of silence, Dipper’s gaze flying to the open doorway. Hope, longing, dejection, guilt - they flew across his features quickly before his eyes closed. “No.”

Mabel blinked, stunned. In their decade together, she'd never heard of Dipper not wanting to be around Wirt. Not happy to see her, Wirt’s tiredness, Dipper’s evasion. She hadn’t been there ten minutes and the problems were glaring her in the face. “Okay. Um. Yeah. Well, I'm not turning down hot chocolate.”

She poked his cheeks, heart clenching when his lips didn’t so much as twitch. Ob-waffle needed some help, and she was just the meddling twin to push the two of them back where they belonged. Determined to leave them happier and healthier than they currently were, she left her brother to find her brother-in-law in the kitchen. Number one was to pull him into a tight hug. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mabel.” 

Unable to keep from hugging her back, honestly glad to see her despite his mood, Wirt found himself relaxing a little in her hold. If there was one thing both Pines twins were excellent at, it was hugging, and he hadn’t realized how much he missed wrapping himself up in his husband in something as simple as a hug until Mabel reminded him. Apathetic facade cracking, Wirt squeezed her tightly and savored the contact until the water boiled in the kettle. He wriggled out of her grasp and busied himself with getting her hot chocolate ready.

“It’s good to see you. How long are you here for? Did you want to stay for dinner? You’re more than welcome to, of course. We don’t have any plans or anything, but we could always figure something out. Or not. Whatever’s good for you,” he babbled as he stirred her drink.

“I was thinking about staying over tonight. I wanted your opinion on a building I'm looking at before running off to Lakeville.” She wanted both of their opinions, but it could wait. She took the mug when he gave it to her, letting it warm her palms as she searched his face. Did Dipper know how close Halloween was? she wondered. “I was thinking about leaving kind of early, but I think I can push it back and get Dipper out of here for a little while. Give you time to snoop.”

Wirt had long ago given up on wondering how Mabel knew these things and just accepted it as fact. “I’m not snooping,” he sighed, not to defend past actions, but to refuse future ones. “There’s no point.” 

“Of course there's a point! He's sad, you’re sad.” She took a cautious sip of hot chocolate. “This is really good. Anyway, snooping is very important when there's sadness. Since he's obviously the one hiding things, you need to snoop. Something’s on that zip drive thing of his.” She shrugged, taking another sip.

“I don’t care about what’s on the zip drive, finding out what it is behind his back isn’t going to fix what’s wrong here.” Wirt turned his back to her so he could make himself a cup of tea. “Okay, maybe I do care about what he’s been doing on the computer, but I want him to tell me. I don’t want to find out behind his back, that’s just- he’s hiding something from me. On purpose.” He paused, hesitating over the sugar before looking at her over his shoulder. “What if it’s something I don’t want to see? If he’s hiding something from me, then it must be something bad, right?”

“When has Dipper ever been _bad_ , though? It's Dipper.” But it was Dipper and Wirt. They knew one another even better than Mabel knew her brother. She pressed her lips together, swirling her drink. “You know, the way he acted up there reminded me of when we were kids and I found out he had an extra journal. You know he always had Grunkle Ford's and then he started his own paranormal one. But that extra one always bugged me - it still bugs me. I hate not knowing what was in that dumb thing when he always caved and told me everything eventually. But he hid it and I never saw it again.”

Mabel reached out and poked his shoulder. “If you don't act now, you might never see that drive again. It can't be _that_ bad, and knowing has to be better than not knowing. If you know, you can find a solution. Not knowing's just hurting you both, Wirt. This whole place hurts.”

“I know that. I live here, I feel it every day.” Wirt rubbed his hand over his face, leaning against the counter. “But I knew what was in that other journal. He told me, he- he trusted me. This isn't that. It can't be something like that because he would've told me.” Writing wouldn't have caused this drastic rift between them and wouldn't fill their home with hurt. “Why won't he just _talk_ to me, Mabel? We've been married for four years, communication shouldn't be an issue. He's deliberately doing something that he won't tell me about because he's either trying to protect me or because he knows it'll upset me and he doesn't want to deal with that. He doesn't want to deal with me. He's never happy when I come home, I don't think he _wants_ me here-” His voice broke, and he swallowed as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palm to them. “What did I do wrong?”

Mabel glanced towards the ceiling. She couldn’t believe that Dipper didn’t want Wirt around. He’d wanted to come down, but he was denying himself. Shaking her head, she set the mug aside and grasped his shoulders. “You’re not fighting. You can’t both lay down and let this roll over you, and if he's going to be stupid, you have to be the grown-up. You love him, Wirt, and I know he loves you right back or he'd just leave. If he won't talk to you, find out what he's doing, and you talk to him.”

Wirt reluctantly met her gaze. As much as he didn't want to go snooping again, he had to admit that she had a point. He couldn't confront Dipper without knowing just what he was up to, but if he knew what exactly he was up against, then he'd know how to face his husband and hopefully clear the air. 

“You really think whatever he's hiding is on that flash drive?” he asked warily.

“Yeah. He didn’t freak out too badly until I noticed he was trying to hide it.” Her eyes rolled. “I swear, if you weren’t such a sweetheart and he wasn't so dumb, you wouldn't be having this problem at all. We're the Mystery Best Friends, you dork! Solve this mystery.” She hugged him again, giving him a tight squeeze. “You both deserve way better than what's going on now, okay?”

He hid his face against her shoulder, more relieved than he thought he’d be to have her support and unwavering belief in them. “Okay,” he exhaled, nodding shakily. “Okay, I’ll... I’ll try. Thanks, Mabel.”

“You're welcome. You'll do great. I know it.” Mabel rubbed his back, glad to get him moving. They both needed to get moving, but Wirt would be better at budging Dipper than she would be. He was the one who'd need to forgive whatever he was doing. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too.” He squeezed her this time before taking a step back. “So… what’s- what’s your plan to get him out of his office?” Wirt pursed his lips, tea forgotten and attention completely shifted from the meaningless distraction to actually fixing what had gone wrong. 

Laughing, she picked up her drink. “What plan? I haven't seen him in months, and he can't work on whatever it is with me poking his shoulder. I'm going to drag his butt out whether he likes it or not. I'll text you when we're on our way back, or you text me once you find it and are ready for him to come back. Then I'll dump him back here and... I might leave for home then. We'll see.”

“No, you- you should stay. I mean, it’s like you said, you haven’t seen him in months. You should spend as much time as you want with him. This isn’t probably what you expected or wanted to do when you dropped by to see us, so- yeah, just, don’t feel like you have to go. You don’t. I’ll talk to him if I find out anything, yes, but it doesn’t mean you have to go.” Wirt had to smack himself in the forehead to get himself to stop talking. “I- sorry. I’ve been a little… I’ll stop rambling and let you start bugging Dipper.”

“My favorite pastime. And don't worry, Wirt. I was kinda expecting _something_ to be going on. Neither of you have been keeping in touch like normal, y'know, so Greg and I've been worried about our waffles.” She grinned and set the mug down after a tongue-burning gulp of hot chocolate. “Let’s balance this breakfast and other food puns!”

“We’ll be back to being delicious and nutritious,” Wirt huffed. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it, as skilled as you are at getting him to do what you want.”

She saluted. “Fear not, captain. Generals aren't easily thwarted by admirals.”

But it was a pain to get him out. More of one than it needed to be, but even her normal guilting tactics needed a boost. Dipper was carrying such a heavy burden of it anyway that her attempts were little more annoying than gnats. Eventually she managed, distracting him enough that the USB was left plugged into the tower. She waved to Wirt as they went by, quite literally pushing her twin out the door and into Boston.

Wirt had waved back hesitantly, trying to catch his husband’s eye before he was whisked away, but he wasn’t sure if he had. He was tired of not being sure of things. He went up to the front window and waited until the car was gone and down the street before even attempting to go up the stairs. It was silly really, this feeling that he was doing wrong in his own house, like he didn’t have the right to go in Dipper’s office when he’d been so comfortable in the space months prior. Once upon a time he’d been free to pop in and sit with him while Dipper bounced ideas and thoughts off of him, shared everything that was flitting about in his head. While he hadn’t been told that he couldn’t still come into his office, the welcoming air had shifted and, just like his husband, seemed untouchable. 

He hesitated outside the door. Ever since finding out he’d been lying, Wirt avoided the room like the plague was incubating inside it. Bracing himself, he pushed forward, determined to get to the bottom of things once and for all. Mabel was right. Dipper was miserable, he was miserable, they were both hurting and it was unacceptable. They were bound to each other, in marriage and in spirit, and had been through their fair share of trials. They could get through this. They had to. 

Wirt didn’t know what he’d do if they couldn’t. 

His gaze immediately swept across the room to Dipper’s computer, the desktop still lit up and the tower humming away. Nothing was open, but the flash drive protruding from its port like a thorn silently assured him that he could rectify that fairly quickly. With just a click of a mouse. 

Slipping inside, Wirt slid into the chair and clicked around for the folder, swallowing when it popped up. There were a collection of folders within the drive, most of them things he recognized for Dipper’s research and some, embarrassingly enough, had photos of him in it. Though, in that moment he was honestly glad to see it and that it hadn’t been deleted for whatever reason. Wirt ultimately ignored it though, curiosity piqued when four folders that weren’t appropriately labeled caught his eye. They were hidden amongst the others, as if they could go undetected, but the _No_ , _no no_ , _no no no_ , and _why_ names might as well have been flashing with bright marquee lights as far as Wirt was concerned. 

This was it. Wirt bit down on his lip as he slid the cursor over the folder labeled _why_. He flinched as he double-clicked, the folder giving way to a slew of folders, with documents inside each numbered pocket that were intricately titled and ordered. Wirt blinked. This didn’t make any sense. He clicked back and then re-opened the folders in separate windows so he could get a good look at all four, his heart still hammering and breath still caught in his throat. Numbers and notes everywhere. It was all very Dipper, all organized and coded in a way he would understand. Was he doing some kind of top secret, undercover work? Did this relate to the paranormal at all? What was this, seemingly, massive project?

Wirt clicked in the first folder, on the file labeled _1_ and opened the first document. 

_Chapter 1._

It was a book. 

A rush of air escaped him, Wirt sagging in the chair so bonelessly that he nearly fell out of it, eyes wide as he drank in the text on the page. It was a book. Dipper was hiding a book from him, he was writing a _book_. The job hunt had been given up in favor of writing a book. He was sneaking out of bed at night to write a book. 

“You jerk. You complete and total jerk,” Wirt whispered, fingers in his hair as he raked them through it over and over again. “Oh my gosh. _Why?_ Why do you suck so much?”

In a daze, he clicked through more of the documents, opening more and more pages of his husband’s book. His novel. Pale-faced and gaping in awe, Wirt wasn’t quite sure how to feel and absolutely wasn’t ready to call Mabel back with his husband. He wanted an explanation, immediately, but he also didn’t want to face him still, not as hurt as he was. Immeasurably proud, yes, so excited and so relieved and so proud, but so, so hurt. 

“You could’ve told me you were writing a book, you jerk.” On a frustrated groan, Wirt buried his face in his hands and just sat there for a moment, piecing his thoughts together slowly. 

He stayed in Dipper’s office for some time, only leaving to go sit in their room instead, curling up on the bed as he considered the number one reason why Dipper wouldn’t tell him what he was up to. His insecurities, obviously. As talented a writer as he’d always been, he’d also been insecure about it. Obviously that’s what this was. Maybe. Probably. It didn’t really explain why he went to such great lengths to hide it from him, Wirt always supportive of his writing, but it at least covered his mood as of late. 

So Wirt understood now, but he was still mad and hurt that his husband couldn’t trust him to support him or thought that he would be anything but supportive and on his side. That was the main reason why he waited a while before texting Mabel a simple _Okay_. The other reason was to truly give them some time to have that one on one twin time that would surely be good for both of them. And maybe Mabel could knock some sense into Dipper’s stubborn, self-deprecating self. 

\----

“You look like you haven't slept in weeks.”

Dipper scrubbed his hands over his face, leaning back against the faded fabric of the booth he sat at. With Mabel claiming to be starving after her flight, he'd been dragged to an old diner he and Wirt frequented. Well, used to. When was the last time they'd come? When was the last time they'd gone on a date? It bothered him not to know.

“Hello?” Mabel prodded, kicking him under the table.

“I sleep.”

“When?”

When he passed out at his desk against his will. “I don't know. What's today?”

“Wow, bro-bro. Wow. It's Friday.” When he bit his lip, dropping his gaze, she kicked him again. “Why aren't you happy about that? You've got the whole weekend to spend with your adorable, loving husband. You _used_ to be happy about that.”

Dipper shrank back, fresh guilt coloring his features, and Mabel reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “You still love Wirt, don't you?”

Nothing relieved her more than the horrified shock on his face when he snapped his head up, gaping at her. “Oh my god, yes. I love him, Mabel. I love him so much. I- I miss him like crazy. I just...”

“What are you working on, then? Why won't you tell him?”

Breath catching, he looked down at the food he'd barely touched and poked at a fry. “It's nothing. It should be nothing. It'll be nothing after I'm done. I just need more time, and when I'm done, everything can go back to normal.”

“Dipper... You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep doing this to Wirt. You're both miserable.”

“I know, but... I'm almost done.” Dipper swallowed, tears thick in his throat. He was so tired of being on the brink of tears. “I'm almost done,” he repeated, more to convince himself than her.

She sighed. “Okay, but what about Halloween? You know what that means to him and Greg. Are you sure you'll be done by then?”

His shoulders hunched. “I should be.”

“Okay. I mean, you only have three days, so-”

He reached out, latching onto her wrist. “What? No. Halloween's, like, two weeks away.”

“Oh my gosh, Dipper, it's three _days_ away. How do you not know that? How long have you been working on this thing?”

Too long. Oh, god, way too long. “I didn’t know- I didn’t- Mabel... I didn't- it’s been more than a _month_! What did I do? Oh my god.” He hung his head, burying his face in his hands. “What- Does he think I don’t love him?” He stared at her. “Does he still love me?” he whispered, the thought filling him with dread. He'd been neglecting Wirt and their relationship for far too long.

He wasn’t going to be able to finish. He had to put it away. He'd done so in college. He could do it now. He should just delete every folder and block it from his mind. He wasn’t a writer anyway. It didn’t really matter.

“Oh, Dipper, don’t cry.”

With a small gasp, he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, missing Mabel’s glance at her phone. “I'm not,” he choked.

“Wirt loves you still, I promise. You know he's just worried. He's our worry Wirt.” Mabel waved for the waitress, quietly requesting a box for his virtually untouched food and the check. “What do you say we go home and you can start making it up to him?”

“I'm scared,” he admitted, balling the napkin before starting to tear it into small shreds.

“It's Wirt, bro-bro. He's supported you through ten years' worth of your ridiculousness. As long as you're not doing something really wrong like cheating on him-”

“I would never.”

“Then you're fine,” she insisted. “Dipper, you know better than to not talk to him.”

“Yeah... This is... this is different.”

“Well, I still say you two will be just fine.” She patted his hand, letting Dipper have his napkin-tearing thoughts while she took care of the rest.

When they returned to their home, she dragged her suitcase out of the trunk of her rental and made noises about a water bill imploding shower so they could have time to be alone - “And you'd better actually talk to him, Dipper.”

“I will,” he muttered, pushing the box into the fridge. He loitered in the kitchen a moment longer, trying to build up tattered nerves. Giving up, he started up the stairs to search for his husband, the love of his life who he'd neglected for far too long.

Finding him in the bedroom, Dipper quietly closed the door behind him and wondered if he really would forgive him. He just had to stop pretending to write, had to box away a dream he'd had since childhood, and he was going to start crying before he said a word.

Wringing his hands together, he took a steadying breath that helped nothing. “I... Wirt?”

“Hi, Dipper.” The click of the door closing had made him nervous, but seeing the way Dipper was wringing his hands, looking altogether absolutely terrified, strengthened Wirt's resolve. He sat up, heart suddenly swelling with love for the man he thought he was losing and so grateful that he wasn't, and held his arms out to him. “Come here. I want a hug.”

Dipper bit his lip, but crossed to him after a moment of hesitation. He sank down beside him, almost afraid to jostle the bed too much, and carefully wrapped his arms around his husband. The familiar press of his body, the scent of their laundry detergent and home permeated his senses, leaving him trembling. He truly did miss him, and neither of them had gone anywhere. He'd been trying so hard to block everything out to finish quickly that he'd neglected everything. He and Wirt hadn't decorated for the holiday - it didn’t matter that they didn't stay home for it. They just liked putting stuff up together, laughing about who could make the most ridiculous jack-o-lanterns. Stupid traditions that mattered and he'd been drowning their home in his own guilty insecurities for something he was never going to show anyone.

“I'm sorry,” Dipper breathed against Wirt’s neck, hiding still. “Mabel told me it was almost Halloween, and- and I didn't know. I haven't been paying attention. I'm sorry, Wirt. I'll be better. I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize for that. You're fine. You don't have to be better, you just have to talk to me.” Wirt squeezed him tightly, rubbing his cheek against his hat to feel the familiar, but dearly missed sensation of the worn fabric on his skin. There was a moment's hesitation before he continued, tone fearful and unsteady. “And not... and not lie to me the few times you actually do.”

“I just...” He swallowed thickly, plucking at his sweater fabric. “I'm sorry. I'm done, okay? I promise. I'm just-” Dipper couldn’t catch his breath for a moment, panic trying to settle in, but he buried it. Some stupid book that would never see the light of day wasn't as important as the man he'd married and the life they were making together. “I was just trying to finish something, but I can't. I can't do it, and I shouldn't have started again. I'm sorry. I'm just going to delete it.”

“You're absolutely not deleting a single word unless it's for editing.” Wirt leaned back, easing out of the embrace so he could meet Dipper's gaze, then tugged the bill of his cap down over his eyes. “Jerk. You're finishing that book and publishing it so someday when you've won the Nobel Peace Prize like we always said you would, we can look back on these awful weeks and laugh about it like the pretentious writers we are.”

Dipper didn’t push his cap back up, trembling violently as realization took hold. Wirt _knew_. Oh, god, he knew. “I- I'm-” He couldn’t publish it. No one would publish it. It was unreadable. It was just a waste of time. It was always a waste of time and always had been. And somehow Wirt’s certainty that he could finish and publish it was worse than any amount of pity. “No. N-no. No, I'm not- I can’t- I'm not a writer. I'm not. You’re- no. How do you _know_? You’re not supposed to know.”

“Yeah, and I'm still mad about that by the way, don't think that just because I'm super proud and excited for you that I'm not mad you lied to me. I mean, what was I supposed to think when I realized you hadn't been applying for jobs like you said you were? I- I was scared. I'm sorry for snooping, I didn't _want_ to, but-” Wirt bit down on the inside of his cheek, eyes wet and apologetic as he fixed his husband's hat so he could look at his face. “I just wanted you back. I- I want to know what you're interested in. What you want to do. So I can support you. I'm here for you, Dipper. No matter what. I thought- when you weren't telling me what was wrong, I thought- maybe- I- I don't know. I didn't know what to think.”

“I'm not- I only meant to do it for a day. I just wanted one day not applying for stupid jobs I didn’t even want, and just- I don’t know what happened. I can’t put it away like last time. I thought- I thought if I could just finish it, the characters would leave my head.” Dipper shook his head. “I'm not a writer,” he mumbled. “I'm not.”

“You've got four folders on your flash drive saying otherwise. You're writing, that makes you a writer.” Wirt cupped his cheek. “And that's okay, Dipper. It's okay for you to write.”

“No, it's not. I'm not a writer. I can’t. I can’t.” The bubble of hope in his own chest terrified him. He withdrew, unable to really feel the hand on his face and panic fully bloomed. His hands covered his ears, eyes squeezing shut as if he could block out the encouraging words, but the ones in his mind hurt just as much and spilled out like a recitation. Words that had been drilled into him since childhood. 

One of his earliest memories was sitting in his mother's lap, greedily drinking in the words of a book that was still mostly pictures. _“Mommy, I want to write a whole book too.”_

_“Oh, honey, you can't be a writer. They're creative, and Mabel's more creative than you are. You’re my smart little boy.”_

Dipper’s breath hitched, face pale. It was his father's words that poured out. _“Dipper, don't be absurd. You'll never be a writer.”_

“I'll never be a writer. It’s impossible to support anyone with writing without considerable talent, and your focus needs to be elsewhere, Dipper. One day, you'll need real work. Writing - writing _fiction_ \- is for those not smart enough to write nonfiction. Those who write nonfiction are too lazy or inept to have books about them. No one remembers the author of a biography. They remember the subject.”

He choked on the words near the end, unaware as he broke into sobs. “You can’t write, Dipper. You’re too smart for it. You can’t be a writer. I'm not a writer. I can’t do it. I can’t. I'm not good enough. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. No one wants to read my stories.”

Wirt tugged Dipper back into his arms, bundling him close as he just held him for a second. Each word that spilled from him, beliefs deeply ingrained in him and recognizable as the beliefs of Mr. and Mrs. Pines, cemented itself in Wirt’s memory on top of what reared up in high school and college. Insecurities and inadequacies that Wirt had thought their creative writing classes had helped Dipper with. Apparently not. Apparently this was as good as an existential crisis for him. Wirt rubbed his back, squeezing him tightly to quell the tremors and the sobs that shook Dipper. 

“Shh, Dipper. Dipper, stop talking for a second and just breathe, okay? Shh.” Wirt kept his voice low and soothing, hoping to reach his husband through his panic, somehow. “Why do you write? I’m not condemning you for it. I’m not questioning it like it’s something you shouldn’t be doing, I just want to know. Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I just- I want...” Dipper pressed as close as he could, savoring the tight hold. He clutched at his husband, hiccuping once while the sobs eased. The urge to flee slowly abated, but the trembling stayed. The fear stayed, a hot ball in his gut. “I love it,” he whispered. “It just- it makes me feel-” The panic started to creep back in. “I don't know. I put the book away after college. I can do it again.”

Wirt clutched him tighter, stomach churning. He started the book in college and then ignored it for several years, putting himself through job after job that he hated? “Dipper, if you love it... if it's what you love, then that's all that matters. Don't think about whether or not you're a writer. Don't think that because you've got a brilliant mind that you're limited to a certain pool of careers and expectations. You have just as much freedom to do what you want with your life as anyone else should. It's okay to finish your book if it makes you happy. Please, I... I want to see you smile again and sleep through the night with you next to me and trust that you're taking care of yourself and- and... I don't want you to look like seeing me is the worst part of your day. Please write your book, let yourself do something you enjoy. You'd want me to do the same, right? You said it was okay for me to teach and write poetry instead of becoming an architect. You have choices, too.”

“You're not the worst part of my day. I'm just- I was just trying to get it done, but I didn't want to tell you and-” Dipper shook his head, hiding his face in Wirt’s shoulder. “I'm sorry. No one would ever read it.”

“I would. And you know I would, I bugged you all the time in high school and in college to let me read your stuff, you can’t pretend that didn’t happen. If that’s not good enough, then Greg would. He totally would. He’s read all my books and he hates poetry, so he’d absolutely be on board with reading something he’d be more likely to enjoy and because it’s something you wrote. You’re his big brother, too. And…” Wirt pressed his lips together for a moment, careful as he added, “Well, if you ever wanted her to know… I’m sure Mabel would want to read it, too. Oh god, and my mom and Jonathan? You know they’d be all over that, telling everyone their son-in-law wrote a book. They’d love it.”

“Not if it’s awful,” Dipper whispered, grasping at straws to keep the terrifying hope at bay. But to actually be able to write the book, to be able to ask his husband’s opinion like he'd done with so many other things, would be a weight off his shoulders. And if it actually got published? It would be a dream come true. “If I, um... if I…”

Wirt rubbed his back, drawing him further into his lap. “It’s okay. You can talk to me. You can tell me anything, Dipper. Please know that.”

This was different. This was hard, going deeper than any of his myriad of insecurities. Many of them had been healed or become manageable over the years, but this one remained buried. Exposed now, he struggled between the need to bury it again or finally display it. Quiet for a moment, breathing in the comfort and support only his husband could give, Dipper climbed fully into his lap and held on.

“If I... let you read the... the first few chapters, would you... You can’t be supportive husband. I need- if it's bad, you have to tell me. If it’s not- if you think it's not bad, I'll finish it.”

“Dipper…” Wirt bit back his sigh, wanting to assure him that his opinion shouldn’t dictate whether or not Dipper did what he enjoyed, but considered the arrangement and the fact that Dipper was willing to finish the book at all. “Okay. That… that seems fair.”

Dipper nodded, biting his lip. “If it’s bad, can I finish it anyway?” he wondered, voice laced with nerves.

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt’s breath caught and his heart ached for his husband as he held him tighter. “ _Yes_ , Dipper. You don’t need my permission. Of course you can finish it if you want. You can write ten books if that’s what you want to do, and you don’t have to show anyone if you don’t want to, or you can show the world if that’s what you want. That’s what I mean by supportive. I’m supporting you and your happiness and what you _want_ to do, regardless of whether or not I like your book. Which I probably will, but you know, I’ll still give it an unbiased read.”

Dipper tugged at his sweater, trying to breathe. It was really okay. “I'm not... I don't want to let you down.”

“You’re not letting me down. You won’t. Even when I found out you weren’t applying for jobs like you said you were, you didn’t let me down, you just made me worry. I was worried and scared and I felt… if anything I felt like I let you down somehow for making you feel like you couldn’t confide in me, but… you didn’t let me down. You never do.” He’d come close though. He’d come so close to shaking Wirt’s trust in him that he couldn’t let that go unsaid. Wirt eased his hold a little so he could cup Dipper’s chin, coaxing him to look at him and meet his gaze, firm even as his hand shook. “But if you pull a stunt like this again, the not talking to me part, not the book writing part, then I’m not sure my answer will be the same. Just… I need to know that I can trust you to talk to me. About anything, Dipper. Hiding things from me, that’s- that’s what would hurt me. That’s what would let me down, okay?”

“Okay. I know. I know better, I do. I didn't mean for this to happen. I just...” He wanted to close his eyes, but held his gaze. “I was scared. I'm still scared. Give me a dozen demons, but not this. I don’t know how to talk about this. I've wanted to do this since...” Despite his efforts, his gaze shifted in embarrassed misery. “Since I was four.”

Wirt stroked the curve of his cheek with his thumb. “Yeah?” he murmured, heart breaking that much more. “Then go for it. This is your life, Dipper. You’re in control of it. And know that I’m so proud of you, no matter how this turns out. It’s hard to write a book and you’ve done so much in so little time. I mean, it’s felt like forever, but in the great scheme of things, it hasn’t really been that long. Keep going.” Wirt leaned in, brushing his lips to Dipper’s in a soft kiss, the light touch electrifying after so many half-hearted ones between them, both going through the motions. “I love you. I want you to keep going no matter what. Make four-year-old you happy.”

“I love you too.” So relieved to hear it, Dipper rubbed a fist over Wirt’s heart. “I hate lying to you. I wanted to get it done as fast as possible, so I could put it away and stop. I'm sorry, pilgrim.”

Wirt could feel his heart skip under Dipper’s touch, a shaky breath escaping him as he searched his face. “I forgive you. I’m still… I’m still a little upset, but I understand and I forgive you. And I’m sorry for poking around in your office. I never wanted to be the kind of person who’d rummage around through other people’s things.”

“You're too polite, babe. It's okay anyway. I don’t...” Dipper tugged his hand away so he could lace their fingers. “I wasn't going to tell you. I was just going to delete it. I'm glad you know. It's- I'm an idiot.”

“You are,” Wirt agreed, but rubbed their noses together. “And a jerk. But you’re my idiot jerk and I love you anyway.”

“I love you too. I'll make this up to you, I promise.” He didn’t quite know how just yet, but he was too tired to think on it. “I've missed you.”

Their lips were nudged together for another kiss. “I’ve missed you, too. So much.” Wirt squeezed his hand, then started to scoot back on the bed towards their pillows. “C’mere. Lie down with me for a little bit. You can make it up to me by letting me cuddle with my husband.”

Dipper laughed, the sound soft and unpleasantly unfamiliar, but he went easily and snuggled close to Wirt. His fingers curled into his sweater, their lips brushing. “I might fall asleep on you.”

“I’m completely alright with that. Believe it or not, I like sleeping in the same bed as you. That’s another way to make it up to me. Stay in bed with me all night tonight. Get a good night’s sleep.” Petting Dipper’s side, Wirt drew him close and slipped his leg between his to tangle them together. 

Dipper nodded, holding tight. “I can do that, yeah.” He was tired. He wanted to stay close to his husband. He wanted the alarm to wake him up in the morning, laughing when Wirt finally climbed over him to start his day. With the weekend, there wouldn't be alarms. Just sleepy, snuggly warmth. He missed it, all of it. “I love you, Wirt. I promise I'll be better. Really.”

“Okay. I trust you,” Wirt sighed, closing his eyes as he nudged their brows together. He focused only on his breathing, the feel of him finally relaxed in his arms, not squirming with lies and the desire to be somewhere else. “You’re already better though. Already good enough, always, just… you have trouble trusting, I get it. I know.”

Not Wirt, though. Not normally. Dipper let exhaustion, emotional and physical, lower his eyelids. “I trust you. I know I haven’t shown it recently, but I do.” 

Wirt’s arms tightened some. “Okay,” he murmured, some of the hurt his recent discoveries had uncovered ebbing. “Take a nap, Dipper. I’ll wake you for dinner if you sleep too long.”

“Mm. ‘Kay. Mabel dragged me to a diner, but I didn't really eat.” Dipper tucked his head beneath his husband's chin. “M’sorry for scaring you, for...” A sleepy sigh cut into his mumbles, Dipper finally explaining what he was sorry for. “For lying and hiding.”

Wirt opened his eyes and exhaled deeply. “I know. I forgive you.” He did, nuzzling the top of his head with all the affection he held for him. “Just please don’t do it again,” he requested in a small voice.

“I won’t,” he promised, grip lessening as sleep took hold. “Never. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” As Dipper fell asleep, a weight seemed to be lifted from Wirt’s chest, even as he lost Dipper’s grip and had to tighten his own. “I love you so much.”

They’d be okay. They were talking now and things were going to be okay. Wirt had his husband back, and Dipper would have him in his corner, supporting him, fighting for him. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it, Dipper Pines was a writer, and hopefully with the completion of his book, he’d see that.

\----

A year later, Professor Wirt Pines’s Writing Poetry class was interrupted halfway through by the doors slamming open. His husband rushed in, eyes wide and faded ballcap askew from his mad dash from the car he was only vaguely sure he'd locked, and grasped his wrist. Clasped in his other hand was a hard-backed book. “I'm- I need- oh my god, Wirt.”

Equally wide-eyed and about ready to have a heart attack from the sudden interruption, Wirt’s gaze flicked from Dipper to the book in his hand to his suddenly silent class, their eyes all on the both of them. “Uh… you guys don’t mind if we cut class a little early- okay then.” He hadn’t even finished before his students were shoving their books and notebooks into their bags. “We’ll pick up this discussion next week. Enjoy your weekends, goodbye.”

Wirt pulled Dipper aside so they were out of the way of the mad dash of English majors and waited for the flood of them to cease, the doors to his classroom closing behind the last one before he let out a breathless laugh. Face completely alight with pride and awe, Wirt reached for the book in his husband’s hand. “They came in already? Oh my gosh, let me see!”

“They- It’s- The mail came and the box was- I should've waited. It’s your last class, and-” Dipper couldn’t catch his breath, hands flailing now that the book was taken. “I can’t- Oh my god.”

“Shut up. I would’ve been offended if you waited. You saw how eager they were to get out of here, they’re not missing out on anything.” Wirt waved it off, flipping through the pages, shivering from the stiffness and fresh printed, new book smell that accompanied it. He closed it, smoothing his hand over the sleek, glossy cover, fawning over the name “Dipper Pines” printed at the bottom. “My husband the published author. Look at this. Look at you.” Wirt’s gaze lifted so he could beam properly at him, then wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him close to press their lips together. “I’m so proud of you. You’re incredible.”

Dipper’s hands finally found something to do, clinging tightly to Wirt’s sweater. His frantic, half-formed sentences were muffled in the kiss, fading on a moan. He had a published book. He had a box of advanced copies in their living room. They’d be on shelves before the month ended. “Wirt. Wirt, it's my book. A real, actual copy of my book.”

“You have a book. Oh my gosh, Dipper! You have a book and I’m holding it in my hand!” Wirt laughed again, then peppered his face with kisses, brimming with excitement. “Come on- let’s go to my office. We can talk more and figure out a way to celebrate, because we seriously need to celebrate. This is huge.”

“Yeah. Yes. Okay. Wow. Wow, it's-” He had a book. A real book. “We've got to call Mabel and Greg and- I don’t know. I just came straight here.” He took the book back so Wirt could gather his things, tracing the title with a fingertip. “Oh my god, babe.”

“Oh my gosh, kitten.” Wirt grinned at him as he slung his bag over his shoulder, reaching for his hand. “I’m so in love with you right now. Well, I am all the time, but right now I’m just- oh my gosh. Yes of course we’ll tell Mabel and Greg,” he babbled as he tugged him out of the classroom and down the hall. His office was unfortunately in a different building, but it wasn’t far, a brisk walk from one building to another. 

It was in the basement of one of the older buildings. As a new professor he didn’t yet have the luxury of a room with a decent window, stuck with a tiny, rectangular casement window up by the ceiling. It was sparsely decorated, a box of things he’d yet to unpack sitting in a corner, but there were two chairs in addition to his behind his desk, and the walls were covered in pictures of Dipper, Greg, and Mabel, the important things on display. His wedding photo front and center on his bookshelf. 

Wirt dumped his satchel on the floor behind his desk, then immediately reached for the book again. “I need to see it again. I went too fast earlier. I didn’t take it all in.”

“Okay. It’s-” Nervous suddenly, cheeks pink, Dipper passed the book over. “You should see the- the dedication.”

His blush didn’t escape Wirt’s notice, and the relatively new professor found his own cheeks warming at the implication. He turned to the table of contents, turning a few pages until he found the aforementioned dedication. His breath caught, eyes drinking in the lines of text. 

_For my poetic pilgrim and the faith you've always had in me. Thank you for loving me as much as I do you._

“Oh my gosh…” Wirt breathed, gaze blurring as his eyes glossed over with stunned tears. “You- you dedicated your book… to me?” His voice cracked as he looked at him as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Dipper cupped his hips, the book trapped between them as he pulled him close to brush their lips together. “You had faith in this thing, in me, way before I did. And I love you more than anything in this world. Of course I dedicated it to you.”

Wirt sniffled, embarrassed by his own reaction and completely charmed by his husband at the same time. Heart fluttering just as it always did when he was swept away by the wealth of Dipper’s love for him, Wirt kissed him back, careful of wrinkling the pages in the book, closing it again to keep it safe and undamaged, regardless of the fact that they had a box full of them at home.

“I love you, too. With everything I have. I just- I can’t believe you dedicated it me. You amaze me, Dipper Pines. In a thousand different ways.”

Dipper laughed, rubbing their noses together. “Only a thousand? I'm slipping.” He glanced down at the book, then up to his husband. “It should at least be a million. I have a book. I have a real, published book. Oh my god, babe, I have a book.” He kissed him again, hands slipping up his sides, stealing beneath his clothes to find the skin beneath.

Wirt shivered, wriggling under the unexpected contact with a slight gasp that parted his lips, allowing their kiss to deepen. His free hand found Dipper’s shirt, fingers curling in the fabric as he gave into the dizzying kiss and the feeling of his touch against his skin. His teeth caught Dipper’s lower lip and tugged lightly.

“Mm. You did write a book, kitten. A very good, entertaining, _compelling_ book. You’re absolutely right. It’s a million ways.” Wirt grinned at him, using his shirt to tug him closer.

“Y’know, I think I might know how I want to celebrate.” Moving willingly, Dipper backed him up against his desk. He hiked him up, setting him on the flat surface. Papers crinkled beneath him, but his husband was relatively neat with his office, a far cry from the disaster that had been his bedroom as a teenager. Dipper’s mouth dropped to his neck, nipping at the column. “You don’t have anything important on this, do you?”

Wirt huffed out a laugh, legs winding about Dipper’s waist as he set his husband’s book down on the desk. “Yes,” he told him with a grin, both hands free to sneak beneath Dipper’s shirt, taking his turn to let his fingers play along his ribs, skimming over the warm skin he had a feeling would be bare to him sooner rather than later. “I do now.”

“By that logic, so do I. My very pretty husband and a book. A book I wrote.” Dipper pushed his husband's shirt up, nibbling on his neck, fingers kneading his back. He drew back only far enough to remove the layers, lips meeting his while his fingers stroked the familiar dips and planes of his chest. “Wirt, do you know what this means?”

“What does this mean, Dipper?” He played along, waiting for him to have his fill of petting his chest before divesting Dipper of his shirt and placing a trail of kisses from his collarbone to his shoulder.

His laugh was breathless, a little nervous as the words welled up. His husband's busy mouth was a good distraction, though. Dipper ducked his head, catching Wirt’s earlobe between his teeth. “I'm... I'm a writer,” he murmured.

Wirt’s heart skipped a beat, the words rushing through him with his heightened pulse while his arms wrapped around him and held tight. “You’re a writer,” he affirmed and kissed his shoulder once more before lifting his head to capture his lips. “My writer.”

The normal instinct to deny the title rose, but what bubbled out was a laugh. He drew the zipper of Wirt’s slacks down. “All yours. You're married to a writer.”

“Not just any writer,” Wirt purred, warmth spreading through him pleasantly when Dipper laughed instead of recoiled. “A published writer. A published, _mystery_ writer.” He nibbled at his neck, teeth and tongue conspiring to leave a mark on his writer husband. “That’s pretty hot, you know.”

“Mm...” Dipper tilted his head, baring more of his neck to the attention. Wirt’s boxers were slid down just enough to bare his length to him, Dipper wasting no time in wrapping his fingers around him to massage the sensitive flesh. “I think my very beautiful poet letting me have him right on his desk would be pretty hot, too.”

Wirt’s gasp was muffled against his neck, teeth sinking in as his thighs twitched and tightened around him. With a small moan, he suckled a bruise into his skin, fingers busy exploring his back while he clung to Dipper. He lapped at the reddened flesh with slow drags of his tongue and tried to time it with the shallow bucks his hips were helpless to, rutting into Dipper’s hand as heat pooled in his belly and filled him with slow, burning arousal.

“Would it?” he murmured, kissing his neck tenderly. “That how my gorgeous writer wants to start celebrating?” His hands slid between them to reach for and rub the growing bulge in his jeans.

With a soft groan, Dipper ducked his head to capture his lips. “It’s absolutely how I want to start this celebration. How quiet do we have to be?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the slit atop his shaft. 

Wirt’s hips jerked, lips parting on a soundless sigh. His fingers fumbled with the clasp to Dipper’s pants, pushing them past his hips to free his length. “Pretty- pretty quiet, just to be safe,” he replied. “I mean, the walls are- are kinda thick down here, but the sound might carry- you know, up.”

“Okay. Don't want to get you fired in the first semester.” Dipper grinned, releasing his length to cup his hips, pulling him to the edge of the desk so he could drag his slacks further down his thighs. He nibbled Wirt’s lower lip, grinding their arousals together. “Letting your class out early just to sneak into your office with your husband. That’s shocking, babe.”

“Well, this wasn’t- I didn’t- it’s not like I was thinking this would- ha-appen.” Wirt’s face blossomed with color, blush mostly from mortification at the implication and a little from the friction between them. “I was- I was excited for you about your book. Not conspiring to- to copulate with you.” Despite his words, he found himself rocking against him, legs inevitably dropping to wrestle his pants off the rest of the way.

“Yet here we are.” Dipper laughed, dropping down to remove Wirt’s shoes and then his pants. He cupped his calf, kneading while he reached for the wallet in his back pocket. Two packets were removed and tossed onto his desk, one landing on the book Dipper still couldn't really believe existed. “I love you,” he murmured, lifting up enough to nuzzle his thigh.

Wirt’s expression softened though his blush remained. He carefully removed Dipper’s hat and set it beside his book on the desk so he could card his fingers through thick curls. “I love you too,” he assured him, hands framing his face as he bent down to press his lips to the top of his head. “So much. I really am glad you came to show me first. I’m so proud of you.”

“You know everything first.” Dipper cupped his thighs, kneading. He lifted his gaze, lips following the trail of his fingers. “I'm really a writer. I have an actual, real, published book, and no one can take that away from me.”

“No, they can’t.” Wirt stroked his cheeks with his thumbs, shivering as he held onto that darkening gaze with his own, each light kiss making his pulse throb and tendrils of anticipation weave through his veins. “You made it happen, kitten. You made yourself a writer and everyone who picks up your book is going to know that.” 

Dipper skipped over his thrumming arousal to nuzzle his abdomen, his kisses dampened by light brushes of his tongue. Imagining anyone besides Wirt actually _reading_ the book was still a difficult task, but it was very much a possibility. There'd been pre-orders already made from a handful of curious people. It was a terrifying, thrilling knowledge, and none of it would be happening if not for his husband. “With that dedication, they're going to know I'm in love with a poet, too. But only I know just how pretty you look, watching me. Pride and want and love - it’s a very nice combination.”

Stomach muscles jumping, clenched tight with desire, Wirt swallowed down a moan and instinctively spread his legs as if to coax Dipper’s attention to fall to his length. “It’s the only way to look at you,” he breathed, hands dropping to knead his shoulders. “Because I’m always proud of you, I always want you, and I’m deeply in love with you.” He buried his face in his hair as he kissed his head again. “Still can’t believe you put that in your dedication though. It’s like you’re trying to woo me. Or just show off to everyone that I’m yours. Your poetic pilgrim.”

“I'm always willing to show you off. You’re just so...” He hummed, tongue wet and warm as it circled the head of Wirt’s length. “Delicious,” he purred, a hand wrapping around the base of him. With a teasing squeeze, he closed his lips around the head and sucked, tongue flicking the leaking slit teasingly.

“Dipper,” he whimpered, hips struggling not to buck into that warm, welcoming heat, head dizzy with the wave of pleasure his hand and mouth inspired and nurtured. “Oh my gosh- if you tease, I’ll- I might-” Wirt bit down on his lip to quell whatever sounds he wanted to make. He released his husband with one hand to brace himself on the desk as his back arched. “Mm-mm…”

As much as he loved hearing the noises he could draw from his lover, Dipper found a certain degree of excitement in hearing him struggling to stifle himself. His own moan was muffled. He licked down his shaft, mouthing at his balls just to feel them tighten against his tongue. “You might what?” he teased, reaching up to grab one of the packets. “My gorgeous husband.”

“I- I might-” Voice strained and dark flush spreading, Wirt quivered as he watched him, cock twitching from both the clever tongue and lips against him and the idea that he’d have Dipper’s inside him soon enough. Hot, hard, and throbbing as he took him the way he always did, like he couldn’t get enough of him. Still, his cheeks puffed out and he huffed, thighs closing some to press against his husband’s head as if to keep him there, his hair tickling the inside of them. “Stop it. You know what.”

Soft laugh ghosting over his length, Dipper tore open the packet with his teeth. Nearly a decade of sex together hadn’t dimmed much of his husband's shyness, but Dipper’s desire hadn’t wavered in the slightest. It never would. “Maybe I want you to you-know-what. Maybe I want to tease you, make a mess of you.” Coating his fingers, he stroked his entrance, the tip of his index finger pressing inside before teasingly retreating. “Maybe I want to watch your face as I take you over the edge.”

“Oh my gosh.” He’d tried to sound indignant, but it came out as more of a whine. His heart was pounding, anticipation at an all time high as he tried to angle the lower half of his body closer, mussing up more papers as he reclined further against the desk, hand behind him now so his arm could support his weight while the other tangled in Dipper’s hair and tugged. His words alone could probably make him come undone, and he shivered at the thought, but his body craved him, even more so now that he’d had a quick taste, slick and with the promise of more teasingly light touches that were sure to drive him mad. “That’s- that’s all well and- and good, but the more you… tease, the more likely I’ll- you just- you make it hard to keep quiet.”

“Mm... Luckily, I really want to have you, so...” Dipper pressed a finger inside his husband's familiar heat, thrusting it, soon sinking a second within to stretch him. Lips and tongue continued to stimulate his shaft, unable to resist the way Wirt responded to the touch. The way he arched, the pretty flush spreading down his chest, the way he had to muffle the sounds Dipper brought out.

Dipper’s free hand grasped his hip, helping to keep him in place. He gazed upwards, watching the love of his life losing himself to pleasure, and it was a potent encouragement for the need pumping through him. Ready, so ready to fill him, Dipper curled his fingers just so to bring stars to his lover’s eyes.

He was surrounded by stars. Wirt choked on the cry that was so eager to escape his lips almost a second too late, silently mouthing Dipper’s name as his head fell back, gaze blinded from the intense wave that shattered him. He rocked onto his fingers, hampered by Dipper’s grip and it was that same grip that drove him over the edge. Dipper holding tight to him, holding him close as he rubbed against that spot. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He needed more, but he couldn’t take it, not with Dipper’s hands and mouth and his beautiful, dark eyes watching him, drinking him in shamelessly just like he was ready to drink him down. Wirt shuddered and came hard, clenching around Dipper’s fingers as he spilled over into his husband’s mouth, a squeak of a sound all that slipped from him as sensation made his head spin.

Surprised, Dipper’s eyes widened a fraction. He was quick to accept it, though, his own moan escaping as he sank down to drink him in. He swallowed greedily, milking every drop. “Oh, Wirt, oh, babe. You’re so pretty. You’re so good. Oh, god, just look at you.” Dipper rose, lips trailing kisses up his chest until he found his mouth. “You’re gorgeous. My beautiful pilgrim.”

His fingers slipped out, Dipper nabbing the second packet of lube. He tore it open, coating his length one-handed so he could help his husband lay back. Supplies and papers scattered, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, so focused on his lover. His face flushed so prettily, eyes so dazed and only half open. Drawn to him, aching for him, Dipper cupped his hips and thrust deep, deep, deep inside the welcoming heat of his lover. “Ah...”

“Dipper…” Wirt moaned, legs winding around his waist as he arched away from the desk, body still spasming and clenching around Dipper. “Oh god…” His fingers scrabbled for purchase against the smooth wood of the desk, unable to find it and reached for his husband’s shoulders instead. So full of him, so suddenly had him dizzy, hips rolling to feel him shift inside him. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. My pretty pilgrim, you’re so good.” Breathless, Dipper released one of his hips to take hold of his length. Still slick from his own mouth, each tug was smooth and sure. He’d long-since fallen into the habit of using his left hand, the ring on his finger offering an extra, intimate texture. His hips began to rock carefully, hand sliding to Wirt’s thigh to hike him higher.

Wirt tried fruitlessly to pull him closer, forgetting for a moment to be quiet as he panted, pleasure coiling tightly as he lost himself to Dipper’s touch, suspended in the haze that followed release, his husband keeping him caught up in it. “You too. So good. Make me feel so good, kitten. So… ah…” He loved feeling him so deep, with long, lingering thrusts, slow love-making a weakness of his that never failed to have his heart singing for his husband. Feeling his wedding ring on each stroke only amplified that. “Need you. Dipper, I need you. My writer.” Blunt nails lightly raked along his back, fingers slipping against skin dampened by sweat as Wirt wrapped himself around him further, lips brushing his jaw.

Dipper kept his thrusts as steady as he could, hand moving in time with them. Kisses fell across his brow, lingering and eventually falling to his lips. “Yours. I'm all yours, pilgrim. Not going anywhere.” His rhythm began to pick up, though he kept them deep, breath catching. “Oh my god, I love you so much. Mine.”

“Mmhm… mm… yeah- Dipper,” Wirt gasped, struggling to keep his voice low, but so eager to encourage his husband with the sounds he knew he loved to hear, so he murmured his praise into each kiss, able to muffle himself by pressing his lips to Dipper’s firmly if the need arose. “Mm- more. More, please. Keep- keep going. Just- just like that. So good. You’re perfect. You’re mine.” 

His hips bounced with Dipper’s rhythm, trying to match it, clenching around him to bring him as much pleasure as he could in return. Wirt shifted just enough for the next deep thrust to graze his prostate and his eyes went wide and blind, as he lost control of his hips and his voice. “ _Dipper_ -”

Dipper had to seal their lips together, his tell-tale mewls pouring out as every thrust pulled him closer and closer to release. His husband so tight, his heat surrounding him. Dipper angled his movements, dragging against the sensitive spot only a few more times before the building pleasure overcame him. “Wirt-!” he choked, burying himself as deep as he could and letting go. Hot and thick, his seed filled him that much more while Dipper muffled his moans and garbled praise against his lover’s lips.

“Dipper,” Wirt gasped, writhing against his husband, unable to keep from moving as Dipper’s release pulsed inside him, hot and wet. Even glossy-eyed and hazy, Wirt drank in the sight of Dipper reaching his peak, tasted it on his tongue, heard it in every sound that broke from him. It was all gorgeous. It was all Dipper. “Dipper, Dipper-” His husband’s name a wrecked mantra as he gathered him close, muscles clenching around him to bring him as much pleasure as possible until he couldn't take it and followed him over the edge, release streaking their stomachs as his lips claimed Dipper's in a messy, hungry kiss.

Dipper stroked him through it, his encouragement and breathless praise muffled in the contact. Legs shaking, he slumped, pressing against his lover. The kiss broke so they could both raggedly draw in air, Dipper's lips falling to his neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

“And you're gorgeous,” Wirt panted, combing his fingers through Dipper's hair, legs still around him to keep him close as he brushed a kiss to his temple. “Absolutely stunning. Outside of time, moments spent with you seem, your radiance beyond reality.”

Dipper hummed, languidly nibbling on his neck. “Never gonna figure out how you do that. 'M still trying to remember how words work.”

“Mm, s'okay. Actions speak louder than words anyway. You can show me while you wait for your words to come back.” Wirt nuzzled him, lips curving at the light nibbles and hugged him a little tighter.

“Pretty sure I already showed you, but I'm always willing to find more ways.” Dipper slid his hands down Wirt’s sides, cupping and caressing his hips. His tongue slid along his neck before he selected a spot for his teeth to bite a little more firmly.

Wirt huffed out a laugh that ended up cracking on a moan, lips clamping shut as he remembered belatedly to keep his voice down. He let his husband mark him though, feeling so utterly claimed with him still buried inside him and the throbbing concentrated where his teeth grazed him. “I love you so much,” he murmured, stroking along his back. “I’m so glad I’m yours.”

“Mine, all mine. And I'm very happily yours, all yours.” Lips curved, Dipper lifted his head to rest their brows together. “I love you. I wouldn't have managed this without you.”

“I think you would’ve.” Wirt’s lips met his in a soft kiss, faith in his boyfriend and his abilities strong. “It might’ve taken you twice as long to get it done, but I think you would’ve. You’re a writer, kitten. There’s no escaping that.”

It still didn’t feel real, but he had a book right on the desk beside his husband. “It's still a little surreal, but... yeah. I'm a writer.” He bumped their noses together playfully, grin flashing when Wirt’s nose scrunched for him. “You ready to move? Anything jabbing your back?”

“Besides you?” Wirt teased, trying not to wriggle too much at the reminder. “A pen, I think. Pretty sure I’m lying on at least two pens.” His limbs relinquished their tight hold on him, arms and legs both lowering so Dipper could ease out.

Snickering, Dipper rubbed soothing circles over Wirt's abdomen as he drew back. Neither of them were fond of this part. “Maybe next time I'll take the time to help you clear your desk. Or we'll just christen your desk chair.” Only half-joking, the thought an appealing one, Dipper hitched up his jeans before capturing his husband’s lips and slipping his arms beneath his back to lift him from the desk and, more importantly, the things on the desk.

Dipper dropped onto the chair, nabbing the box of tissues. It wasn't the best cleanup method, but they’d have to do. “Want to know what I was doing before the box arrived?”

Wirt tried not to wince or squirm too much, reaching back on the desk for Dipper's hat and secured it on his head. “What were you doing?” he asked with an amused curve to his lips.

Cheeks pink, he began to stroke Wirt’s sides and ducked his head. “I, um. I started the second one.”

Wirt couldn't stop his grin from spreading and tipped up the bill of his cap to try and catch his eye. “You did?” Wirt scrunched his nose and rubbed it to Dipper's. “Oh my gosh. I love you.”

“I love you too. The ideas just- they were there when I woke up. And then suddenly I've got two chapters written.” Dipper shrugged, a pleased edge tinting his embarrassment as he smiled at his husband. “I was planning the third when I had to answer the door, but the interruption was totally worth it.”

Wirt cupped Dipper’s cheek as he drew him in for a kiss, long and lingering as he poured his love and pride into it. “It was. But I’m so glad you have more ideas spinning around in your head. I mean, I didn’t doubt that you wouldn’t, it’s just- I’m happy for you. I think you’ve found your calling and it’s great. Between our writing and me working here during the school year, we can still have our summers off in Gravity Falls or wherever in the world we want to be and you’ll be happy. It’s perfect.”

“Mm. Will you be happy, too?”

“You know I am.” Wirt met his gaze with a soft smile. “I knew what I wanted to do, once I figured it out, that is, but I was worried about you working somewhere or on something that made you feel as fulfilled as your channel did. I worried that you might feel like you had to settle. I knew in our personal lives we were happy, but I wanted your working life to be, too.”

“I never really thought it could be work, and it's really kind of... not.” Throughout finishing the first, from the writing itself to the grueling process of editing, it hadn't felt like work. Even when he had small panic attacks and had to lean against Wirt through them before he could keep going, it hadn't seemed like work. Writing had never felt that way for him, but the odd jobs he'd taken had. They’d been demanding, yet dull. Simplistic, but energy depleting. Writing wasn't that. Writing was demanding, energy draining, emotionally taxing, beautiful, thought provoking - it was everything he'd always been denied by parental expectations that had somehow twisted into his own. This deep, dark secret was soon going to be shared with the world. “It's what I always wanted to do, Wirt. And now that I've gotten one written, I want more. If it’s a calling or just something that works for me, I'm happy with it. Still scared stupid in a lot of ways, but...” He grinned, wrapping his arms around his husband. “I'm happy. I'm a writer. I can say it. I might even believe it.”

“I believe it.” Wirt began peppering his face with kisses, across his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, his brow, his nose. “You’re absolutely a writer. You wrote a book. And, okay, so you don’t have to think of it as work.” He paused, smirking a little as a thought occurred to him. “You can think of it as an excuse _not_ to work. Not that you really need one. You know I’d always support you. Emotionally and financially. But, you know, I thought it was clever.”

“Your attempts to be clever are very adorable, husband of mine.” Smiling, heart nearly bursting with love, Dipper bit back giggles as he was covered in sweet kisses. “I wrote a book. And dedicated it to the love of my life, my inspiration.” He caught Wirt’s lips, stealing a kiss. “If it flops, I'm sorry in advance.”

“Hey, if it flops, it’s not because of you. It’s because people are dumb.” Wirt kissed back firmly. “I read your book three times already, I know how good it is and I’m honored that you dedicated it to me. No apologies necessary.” Wirt leaned back, still in Dipper’s lap, and gave his side a pat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should probably get my pants back on and then we can move on to more celebrating. I’m going to treat my published author to dinner. Wherever he wants. Probably after a shower, but you get the idea.”

“But you look so nice without pants.” Dipper let his gaze roam freely, wriggling happily beneath him. A far cry from where he'd been the year before.

Wirt grabbed the bill of his hat and tugged it down to cover his eyes. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’d appreciate the rest of the world finding that out,” he huffed, but he was smiling as he slid from Dipper’s lap. “This is for your eyes only.” He gestured to his lower half as he picked up his boxers.

“And my hands.” Though he kept them to himself for the moment, letting him pull them on before rising to playfully grab his waist and tug him back. A friendly kiss was placed on the back of his neck. “And other certain parts of my body.”

Wirt laughed, hands resting over Dipper’s as he leaned back against him. “Yes, okay. And your hands and other certain parts of your body. How about we make it simple and just say, ‘I’m only for you,’ hm? That encompass all your greedy bits?”

“I think it might just work.” Dipper buried his face into Wirt’s neck, nibbling lightly. “So... I kind of have a thought I've been kicking around the past few days.”

“Oh yeah?” Wirt let his head fall forward, humming as his lips curved, enjoying the attention to his neck. He squeezed Dipper's hands. “What sort of thought?”

“Mm-mm-mm. It's kind of dumb, so you can say no. I've just been kinda...” Embarrassed, Dipper bit a little more firmly, soothing the tiny mark with his tongue. “I mean, it’s not a really huge place, but it feels... big when I'm in it on my own basically all day. Not that- It’s fine. You’re teaching, and that's great, and that's not what this is about. I just...” With a huff, he hid his face between Wirt’s shoulder blades instead and mumbled.

Wirt blinked, shifting a little in his lap to try and look at him. “Hey, it's okay. If it's something that's bothering you... even if you think it's dumb, I want to know. Do you- you don't want to downsize, do you?”

“No, I love our place. It's got the extra room for Mabel and Greg and my office. So, no, it's not that. I was just... maybe thinking...” Dipper bit his lip. “What do you think about dogs?”

“I- I like dogs. I think.” Wirt turned so he was straddling Dipper's lap, able to make eye contact as he smiled at him. “You want a dog? Oh, kitten, that's not dumb. We can- we can talk about getting a dog. That's definitely something we can do.” Wirt stroked his cheek as he leaned in for a kiss.

Dipper stroked his husband’s back, heart swelling as he sank into the kiss. Time and time again, Wirt proved his nerves wrong. It was always better to share his ideas and plans. “I love you so much,” he murmured.

“I love you, too.” Wirt let their noses brush as he broke their kiss, smiling brightly at him. “And you know if I could stay home all day with you, I would, but I think I can share you with a dog. Our dog. A puppy for my kitten.”

“Oh my god, don't say it like that.” Dipper laughed, pressed a kiss to his nose. “I think I'm ready to actually let you get dressed now. Take my oh, so generous husband home.”

“Ha. My plan worked.” Wirt slid from his lap yet again, chuckling to himself as he grabbed his pants. “If I ever want to free myself from your clutches, I just have to say things that will make you say ‘oh my god.’” He shimmied into his slacks and did them up, then took Dipper’s hands in his and tugged him out of his desk chair. “I am oh, so generous though, aren’t I? Well, gotta find some way to keep you around. Giving you stuff seems like a good place to start. Like attention. And praise, for your brilliant writing skills that I am so very proud of- did I mention how proud I am? And how in love with you I am?”

“Not in the past two minutes or so. I'm starting to feel neglected.” Grinning, Dipper laced their fingers. “But I think I'll stick around for you anyway. I like your face and your mind and the way your hands feel like they were meant to hold mine.” Both were lifted to Dipper’s lips, kisses brushed to the backs. 

“Because they were. Obviously.” Wirt’s cheeks pinkened as he teased. “No one else’s hands could ever fit so perfectly within mine. Whose palms and their lines align like stars while our fingers intertwine.”

Nothing compared to Wirt’s offhand poetry, the way words flowed off his tongue enviable. For once, Dipper didn’t feel his own were weak in comparison. For once he understood that, though their styles varied, they were both writers. With a laugh, he rubbed their noses together. “You’re so cute, babe.”

He stepped back to grab his shirt, tossing Wirt one of his. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
